Waking Athena
by J. T. O'Connell
Summary: This is a followup/prequel to my full-length HG fanfic book, Least of These. You don't have to read Least of These to read this. Waking Athena clarifies a hidden plot in Least of These. Reading either first should be fine. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

I know what I am to do. I just don't know who it will condemn. My lazy fingers drift over the piano, numb to the sound when a key is struck, feeling detached entirely. It doesn't matter. The piece laid on the rack has always eluded my ability. Untold ages ago, Felix Mendelssohn wrote elaborate and joyful dances between the hands and I haven't managed to pin down the emotion behind this work. I would practice except that I'm plagued by what is to come this afternoon.

Several notes tone their hollow resonance, all sounding flat and identical in light of my distress. I stare at the polished, black frame. After all these years of practice, my whole life, the instrument just looks like a box of wood today. A nervous sigh escapes my lips. Standing up, glancing over my dress, I check for the nth time to make sure there are no dust splotches or stains on the white fabric, elaborately stitched together, a simple, elegant outfit. My light hair is cradled into a silken curtain by a pink ribbon, just slightly leaning to one side; my mother is a fantastic hair-dresser, even though she rarely feels well enough to set foot on our porch, much less go to official functions.

I take the basement staircase up and then round the wall, taking the first floor stairs to the second floor, and duck quietly back into my room for fear of waking my mother again. The songbird pin is tucked near the rear corner of my dresser's top drawer, hardly ever finding its way out. My mother once said it was my aunt's, that she would have wanted me to have it. I never knew her, though.

Smudges wipe away with the rag between my fingers, removing fingerprints from the last time I had it out. The oil had been collecting dust, but now, the golden bird gleams in the light, its wings reaching out to a stately ring, nearly regal; and yet somehow it's almost mischievous. I'll need it today.

I look at myself in the mirror and see my eyebrows, light as they are, hunched with worry, marring my otherwise plainly-pretty face. Deep breaths only exaggerate my anxiety. How am I going to do this? They convinced me, but the turmoil inside still churns.

A soft knock draws me out of these thoughts. It came from the back of the house. Descending the stairs, my eyes chance closing, lips release another slow sigh to calm the storm inside. It works for now, well enough that I can make the trade. Almost to the back door, I stop and grab an envelope from a kitchen drawer where the money is kept.

My expectations are met by Gale and Katniss outside; he, tall and lanky, Katniss smaller, though much more welcome. If there was ever anyone I'd consider talking to about this, it would be her. Katniss is the closest thing to a friend I have. It's hard to make friends when most of District 12's kids resent you for having more to eat than they ever do. Several years back, I had realized how right some of the kids were, even if they can be jerks about it.

Gale breaks the ice, his two words dripping with sarcasm, "Pretty dress."

I glance at him. His sneer darkens. Gale was one of _those_ kids. I grimace at first, but force a smile through my disgust, "Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?" As the words creep out, I realize that it would prove the spiteful kids wrong if I was selected, show them that even the mayor's daughter is in the Reaping.

Picking up the loose thread, Gale tugs, "You won't be going to the Capitol. What can you have? Five entries?" He scowls, "I had six when I was just twelve years old."

I look down pulling my lips back between my teeth. Katniss interjects, "That's not her fault."

"No, it's no one's fault. Just the way it is."

I thrust the envelope toward Katniss and she hands me a basketful of strawberries, my father's favorite treat. My face is blushing, burning a murky shade as my fingers find the doorknob. "Good luck, Katniss," my voice reflects more strength than I feel.

She calls back quietly, "You too," just before the door clicks into place.

I have the presence of mind to set the strawberries on the counter before my shaking hands drop the basket. Leaning against the counter for support, waves of anger flow through my chest, threatening to well tears up in my eyes.

How dare Gale! Who is he to be angry at me, as though I have done anything to make things the way they are? If he only knew! If he only knew what I am willing to do to change things! A firestorm rises from some dark place within; my will forges to the task. I can do this. I _will_ do this and even if I'm selected, I'll face the music!


	2. Chapter 2

Many other people have dressed up for the Reaping, especially those from the business district. Everywhere, worn suits and repaired dresses flow through the streets, some of the luckier people from the Seam almost unrecognizable, the miners especially. I weave my way through the crowds and move toward the side of the Justice Building, my heart beginning to pound.

A Peacekeeper named Arcturus was guarding the side entrance, "Hello, there Miss Undersee. What can I do for you?"

"Hi, Arch. My father asked me to get something for him from his office."

Arcturus moved to block her entrance. "Sorry, kid, I'm really not supposed to let anyone in right now. Why can't he come down here and take care of it?"

"He's really busy today. Come on, Archie. I'm the mayor's daughter…" My words hang in the air.

Arcturus looks around and sees no one nearby, "Oh, alright. But keep this to yourself, Madge."

The hallway is lit and abandoned. My mind replays the sequence of events that Eagan's father drilled me on until I learned it backward and forward. Step number one: find the package stashed in the janitorial closet. Two minutes later, I find the closet, click on the light, and glimpse the package, right behind the mop bucket. On the side of the box was printed in bold, "Bathroom Tissue."

My thumbnail splits the tape and I open the box. As Eagan's father had insisted, there were only five items in the box: another box about the same size and four black mini-duffel bags, two rolled up and two stuffed full. Once I see them, I breathe a sigh of relief. It will work. I flick the light off and crack the door to see down the hallway. Effie Trinket is making her way up the hall, pink hair catching too much light, glazing under each of the cans set in the ceiling.

With a flourish that demonstrates her habit isn't an act, Effie swoops into a storeroom. So, I was just in time. She's only in there for half a minute and then leaves, hustling up the hallway again, all-too-obviously excited for a new Hunger Games season to begin.

I take a deep breath and retrieve the four bags, taking a final glance to make sure the coast is clear before leaving the closet. Nervousness brings me to a shaky jog. My dress shoes slide on the tile floor as I scamper into the storeroom, closing the door right away.

There they are, the two selection bowls, glass recently polished, white entries stacked nearly to the brim. I set down the two filled duffels and unroll the unfilled ones. It's not as easy as I thought it would be, pouring the entries into the bag. The first bowl pours a third of the entries on the table. I snatch them up rapidly, crumpling too many; they're only supposed to be folded.

For the second bowl, I cup entries gingerly in both hands and scoop them into the second duffel bag. It takes longer, but I don't have to clean up any spills and the entries fare much better.

Dropping the replacements into each bowl is much easier, and I don't have to worry whether every single entry is out of the bags, just enough to fill each interior. My trembling fingers zip up all the bags and I turn to leave the room, a hint of unease twisting my stomach. It only takes a second to snatch a single entry from each bowl and I exit, sure to leave the door open as Effie had. Lungs feeling ragged, breath coming in short gasps, I toss the bags back into the box in the janitor's closet and then lean against a rack to catch my breath. I can feel a light sweat on my forehead, it should dry soon enough.

There isn't any time left to waste. A quick glance proves that no one else is in the hall yet. I pound my feet back toward the side door, aware that my heart is pounding harder.

And then my thoughts return to the thin cards still between my fingers. I look at them, wondering, dreading to see my name on one of the entries, instantly feeling that guilt return that I am afraid to go to the Hunger Games myself, but would be willing to send someone else. Even thought Eagan's father insisted that it would make a real difference, my gut compresses with guilt. I couldn't imagine how any particular kid dying in the Hunger Games could change anything. The sad truth is, my going to the Hunger Games would affect the mayor, and so the logical likelihood is that my name will show up on one of these condemnations. But why replace both, then?

I move off to the side of the hallway, right next to the Justice Building front lobby, to sneak a peek. "Peeta Mellark," scrawled in gentle, cursive calligraphy. The baker's son? I hardly know him, the poor kid.

My fingers tremble as I unfold the female entry, uncurling its haunting name from the fiber of the card. A guilty moan of relief escapes my lips when I see that the name is not my own. "Primrose Everdeen," Katniss' sister? She's not even old enough for the Reaping! Or is she? Is she twelve now? A twelve year old? The ink shakes in my hand as I hold the entry, unable to believe what I'm staring at.

No, no, no! This can't help anything! My only friend's little sister! What have I done? The anxiety increases toward panic, breath heaving as I consider what I've done. I can't let this happen! I have to get rid of those reapings and put the real ones back in; I have to! My fists crumple the paper and I turn to head back to the janitor's closet.

"Madge! How are you?" Effie rounds a corner from the front lobby, two Peacekeepers trailing behind her.

Effie stops for a moment and smiles, her shock of pink hair aglow in my face. My voice quivers as I reply, "F-Fine, Effie. How is the Capitol?"

"Delightful as always! I bet you're excited about this afternoon. Hoping you'll be riding to the Capitol with me today, hmm?" A glint in her eyes exposes too much glee for the Hunger Games festivities.

I shrug and turn toward the lobby, hearing Effie reprise orders to the Peacekeepers, "Okay, now be sure to put your gloves on so there are no messy smudges on the glass, and hang on to the globes very tight! They can be ever so heavy!"

My feet stumble back to the side entrance, the weight of my actions beginning to burden me. Poor Primrose! And Peeta too! What am I going to say to Katniss? Could I ever tell her how awful I feel? How it's my fault?

Arcturus holds the door open for me and says something but my ears fail to register. People are streaming into the square for the inevitable, the Reaping which is already decided. The baker's son and Primrose Everdeen are doomed and it's all my fault!

Eagan's eyes meet mine from across the square as we shuffle to our respective age groups. His eyebrows rise, asking if I've done it. I look down, unable to respond, to confess the horror of what I've done. Does he know who the underground is sending to the Hunger Games? Would it have been enough to know that he wouldn't be going? No, he couldn't have known. He's good friends with Peeta Mellark.

My face flushes with emotion, throat tightens with anger at the way I've been used to condemn two people. It crosses my mind that it would have been better to condemn myself. At least that way, I wouldn't have to live with it. No one takes notice of me. All the kids are worried they'll be selected and only I know which of us is doomed.


	3. Chapter 3

My father begins his annual speech. I can't hear it. My brain rejects all input. I glance over my shoulder looking to see where Primrose is. She's somewhere lost in the crowd of twelve year olds, the entire pack of them shivering at their first Reaping. This can't be happening! Why did I listen to those men?

Effie's insufferable voice cracks through my daze once more. She speaks two quick lines and bustles over to the table where the glass bowls sit, just waiting to heap guilt on me. She dunks her hand into the female entries and my eyes flutter closed, begging that I messed up somehow, wishing that I hadn't made the switch. My teeth clench when I hear her read the name I knew would be on the entry.

Primrose marches stiffly toward the stage, her cute, little face set with an almost comically-grim frown that breaks my heart, tears brimming at the bottom of my eyes. I look away, shame tearing through me, self-loathing that dwarfs my introverted isolation.

"Prim!" Katniss' voice cracks through the air like a whip. My teeth chatter behind my lips. "Prim! I volunteer! I volunteer!" When my eyes reopen, I see Katniss pushing her sister behind her back.

"Lovely!" Effie's amplified voice chirps through the speakers. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then… we…"

My father interrupts her babbling, "Oh, what does it matter?" He grimaces at Katniss. "What does it matter? Let her come forward."

Katniss starts up the stairs to the stage when Primrose panics, voice squealing with fear at what awaits her older sister. Gale rushes forward as Katniss begins to scold Primrose in a whisper. He hefts her up, shares a few words with Katniss, and carries Primrose, still struggling, back toward Mrs. Everdeen.

My stomach aches, thankful that I haven't eaten today, because it surely would have come back up, now. Effie looks to Katniss as she approaches. "Well, bravo! What's your name?"

"Katniss Everdeen." She looks different than she did earlier today, even with minimal effort; her features take a gentler curve, giving her a unique beauty. I stare regretfully at this girl who is willing to throw away her life for her sister, all too aware of my own hesitance to rig the Reaping, lest I be selected.

Effie invites everyone to cheer for Katniss and no one does. Rather, the District salutes her. I don't have the heart to participate since I'm responsible for her being up there. My shoulders sag, the dress feels like a rag on my skin, as though I'm naked in front of all these people. I close my eyes, feeling faint.

Haymitch Abernathy staggers across the stage drunkenly. I can hardly perceive his words through his intoxicated buzz. Haymitch was one of the four men from the underground who talked me into this. They refused to tell me who it was they wanted selected and now I understand why. Why did I listen to a renowned alcoholic? Haymitch, for being the only living victor of the Hunger Games in District 12, wasn't very well liked and for good reasons. His rant was brought to an abrupt close when he fell off the stage, knocking himself out.

Then Peeta is selected and no one volunteers for him. My father reads the Treaty of Treason. Its harrowing words crush at my mind as the two tributes fill my vision, blotting out the rest of Panem. Katniss' face is twisted into a dark scowl. Peeta looked as though he might cry, his chin shaking with each bass note of the Panem national anthem that had begun to play following the reading of the Treaty.

My right fist was still clenched, still gripping the entries. As the Reaping wraps up, Peacekeepers usher Peeta and Katniss through the front doors of the Justice Building. I push around people who are leaving, struggling until I get to the stairs, bounding up them haphazard on my unsteady shoes.

The tributes are already at the back of the lobby being whisked off to different wings of the building. "Katniss!" the whisper moans from my throat.

"Madge, you're here!" My father tells the Peacekeeper next to him to wait a minute. Behind him, I see the Mellark family walk through the Justice Building doors. "I'm going to invite the Mellarks to the dinner. Do you want to invite the Everdeens?"

My head shakes, no. I don't know how I could get the words would to come out at all.

"Okay," he turns to the Peacekeeper, "don't let anyone see her until I give you the go ahead." The man nods and then moves off. My father turns to the Mellarks and escorts them toward the back of the lobby.

Fatigue begins to overtake me and I plop down on a hardwood bench beside the wall of the lobby. This wasn't what I expected. I knew there would be some feeling of guilt and I also know that there would have been two tributes, no matter what. Somehow, this sense of wrongdoing is stronger than I expected; pushing me to test my ability to tolerate the misery I have arranged for other people.

Gale pushes on one of the doors and walks inside, followed by Mrs. Everdeen and Primrose, her skin rosy from fresh tears. I stand and walk over to them, keeping my voice quiet, as it always is; this time not from reservation, but from the fear that I may cry. "They'll let you see her in a minute." I glance around taking note of how far away each of the Peacekeepers are, remembering that voices echo in this room. I turn back to the Everdeens, "I'm really sorry." If it hadn't been so hushed, my voice would have cracked in a whimper.

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Everdeen whispers in reply.

I lead the group around into the left hand corridor, hearing quiet discussion behind me. Peacekeepers guard the door where Katniss is awaiting visitors. They won't let anyone in yet.

"Mrs. Everdeen?" My father's voice drifts down the hallway as he strides over, "I know this isn't what you would like to be doing with this time, but I wanted to catch you as soon as I could. It's a tradition in District 12 that the tribute's families have dinner with the mayor and I would be greatly honored if you would care to join my family tomorrow."

I turn away from the conversation, for the first time sensing how awkward such an invitation must be for the family. He invites Gale as well, but Gale doesn't make any commitment. My father tells the Peacekeepers to let us in now, just before he heads back toward the lobby. I stare after him, his head shining under the lights, and I wonder how he manages to stay composed during Reaping Day. My father and I are not very close, anymore. Everyone in my family keeps at a distance.

"You want to go in all at once?"

I shake my head and Gale replies, "I want to go in just myself. If it's alright with you."

Mrs. Everdeen nods as she and Primrose go into the room. Gale leans against a wall staring at me, a frown plastered across his face. I'm not even confident that I want to go in, not sure that I could keep it together around the girl I set up to fall. It should have occurred to me that Katniss would volunteer, not that it matters anymore. Why Katniss and Peeta? What did Eagan's father see that no one else could?


	4. Chapter 4

"Good luck," Gale muttered under his breath.

"What?" I ask, not sure I heard him.

"Nothing." Gale takes a deep breath and sighs. "Is there a water fountain in this place?"

I nod, "On the other side of the lobby, take the middle hallway and the first right."

Gale walks back the way we came without saying a word. The words he had spoken were enough. "Good luck" was certainly sinking in, as I remembered my statement from earlier in the day, bidding Katniss good luck, while planning to recast her fate. There was no way you could have known, Madge. My mind tries to console me to no avail.

There has to be something I can do for her, show her in some way that I will miss her and that she was always closer to me than anyone else, even my parents. There has to be something to make it easier to forget that I switched out the entries-

A realization strikes me with the sudden force of the headaches that infirm my mother. I need to replace the original entries! Eagan's father told me they sometimes check over the entries just to be sure that districts aren't changing things at their discretion. The glass bowls will soon be emptied into plastic bags and shipped back to the Capitol on the train with the tributes. Since only two names are scrawled on every single entry, the conspiracy will certainly be noticed, and there would be an investigation. The danger that my part in the subterfuge could be discovered is too great.

My shoes click on the hard tile as I walk across the lobby and down the other hallway, heading for the janitor's closet, glancing in the storeroom as I pass, feeling a light exhilaration to see the bowls returned there, bleached paper and all. The Tissue box opens again with a quick yank, and I grab the four duffels. I'm about to leave the closet when I see two more Peacekeepers move into the room and my heart sinks, They are both carrying bags. I'm too late!

It's strange how easily that rests in my stomach, at least compared to the other consequences of my actions. If the fixing is discovered, it could mean imprisonment for me, unseating of my father from his mayoral position, even a summary execution of my whole family, but what it will not do is save Katniss and Peeta. The tribute selection is final.

As I watch, the men come back out only moments later, evidence sealed in the bags. The duffels shake in my hands gently for a moment. There's no time to bother about this now. I stuff the four bags into the second box, draw the new package out of the larger box, and seal it. The label was already filled out: C.V.C./ Main Office / District 11; all I have to do is leave the box in the mail room.

A brisk pace carries me there in moments. As I expected, it's abandoned for the day's events. I drop the box into an out bin where a few other packages rest. Taking a few deep breaths, I walk back to the front-hallway, suppressing my worry as best I can.

The songbird pin glints on my dress as I pass underneath the lights in the hallway. Suddenly, I decide what to do. It doesn't matter now that I've put these two tributes on the train. I block out everything I've done today up to this point, giving my head a light shake.

Mrs. Everdeen and Prim are waiting in the hallway once more so I look at the door and then at them, raising my eyebrows. "Go on in, Madge. It's your turn," Mrs. Everdeen says. A Peacekeeper holds the door open for me, and as I move through the frame, my hand pulls the songbird pin loose from my dress.

I reinforce my heart with strength and walk over to Katniss where she sits on a couch. My voice strains with forced effort, binding it under control, "They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena, one thing to remind you of home. Will you wear this?" The pin rests on my fingers, heavy shape of gold.

"Your pin?" She distantly replies, her eyes hardly focusing on it.

I lean forward, "Here, I'll put it on your dress, alright?" It only takes a second to secure it to the fabric. "Promise you'll wear it in the arena, Katniss. Promise?"

"Yes," she says with enough worry to knife at my belly.

My bottom lip quivers, and I stifle the tears that are sure to come by kissing her on the cheek. It seems trivial as I'm leaving, because we weren't all that close. I wish I had gotten to know her better. Maybe I would have looked at the entries before I switched them, or maybe Katniss would have talked me out of helping the underground in the first place, had I been a close enough to seek her advice.

I turn up the hallway trying to think of something to say to Peeta, trying to think of any occasion in the past where I even spoke to him. I doubt that we've exchanged two words in sixteen years. That doesn't matter, since his mother is still visiting with him. I won't have a chance to soothe my soul on his count. And I shouldn't, anyhow.

I stay in the Justice Building, watch from a second-floor-hallway window as the two tributes are escorted to the train, bags of entries following behind them. All of it, my responsibility. What have I done?


End file.
